


Axis On A Tilt

by Clocks



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Modern AU, Oh man this is so cheesy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocks/pseuds/Clocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erik takes long motorcycle rides and tries to pretend he is not in love with his best friend, who is getting married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Axis On A Tilt

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Axis On A Tilt 軸心傾斜](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953989) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Axis on A Tilt 轴心倾斜](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541443) by [Yaegaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaegaki/pseuds/Yaegaki)



> This is a fill for a [prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/8846.html?thread=18306958#t18306958) that the wonderful [afrocurl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl) requested, for a songfic based on [Motorcycle Drive By](http://www.metrolyrics.com/motorcycle-drive-by-lyrics-third-eye-blind.html) by Third Eye Blind. I see Afrocurl everywhere in the fandom, offering everyone encouragement and support, so I wrote this as a way to thank her, sort of. This is for you, dude, hope you like it!
> 
> PS: I realise this is a bunch of clichés from romance movies, so I apologise in advance for the various tropes.  
> 

Erik only came back to New York for one reason, and that reason lived in a pretty, perfect apartment in Lower Chelsea with his pretty, perfect fiancée. Erik had every reason to hate her - _wanted_ every reason to hate her – but she was so friendly and so nice, and she made Charles happy, and she liked Erik, and against every atom in his body and his heart, he discovered that he liked her too.

Lilandra was different from the other simpering, idiotic girls that Charles usually went out with, and Erik had known it was serious when Charles had called him long-distance one night, drunk off his ass, telling him that he was scared because he was falling for her, and Erik had gripped the phone so tight that it had almost cracked, and he had said, _that's good, that's good Charles, it's time you found someone,_ the ache and pain squeezed so tight in his throat that it felt like a physical lump and he could barely speak, and Charles had remained silent, and then the next week, he had proposed.

Lilandra had joyfully accepted. And then texted Erik to thank him for helping Charles make up his mind.

 _This_ , Erik thought as he stepped foot into JFK, _is what assisted suicide feels like._

\---

They always offered to let him sleep on their couch, but Erik usually declined, heading for a nearby hotel. It was bad enough to always be witness to the fond sideways looks that Charles always shot her, or the soft curve of her lips whenever she looked at him. They were a perfect couple, really, and she was one of the few girls who could tolerate Charles's insane work schedule. Erik could commiserate; his own hours were unpredictable, but that was the life of a photojournalist. It had been the same when he had worked together with Charles at the New York Times, and just because he was now with the San Fran Chronicle didn't mean that he had more free time.

"It is a curse, my friend," Charles said one night over a round of beers, both of them absently mindful of their phones on the tables. A familiar occupational hazard, because a story could break at any time. "It's like we're married to the job, is it not?"

Erik studied the label of his bottle. "You'll be married soon for real, though." His voice was very steady as he started to pick at the corner of the label with his thumbnail.

Charles let out a soft huff of laughter. "True enough." He was squinting at Erik though, as though he were one of those unsolvable Japanese puzzle boxes. "Did you ever think I would get married?"

 _For fuck's sake, please don't put me through this,_ Erik thought. But out loud he said, "Not five years ago, no." The slew of women Charles had left in his wake seemed far away and distant, as though they were a dream from a past life. "Lily's nice."

"You like her." It was more a statement than a question, and when Erik finally looked up at Charles, he was nursing his beer bottle, his thumb grazing over the engagement band on his ring finger, a lost faraway look in his eyes. He hadn't changed much in his appearance in the five years that they had known each other, although he constantly joked that his hair was thinning when it was as thick and dark as ever. Erik usually agreed just to tease him, even though he himself was starting to grey at the temples. Another occupational hazard for journalists; getting old before their years.

Charles was one of those few people who remained ever optimistic, who believed that he really _was_ able to make a difference with articles on Eastern European human trafficking and the Darfur situation, and Erik sometimes wanted to smack him over the head for his naivety. They have had many spirited discussions about this over the years, Erik believing humanity was already in a one-way handbasket to hell while Charles sincerely believed every single person was capable of changing the world. Strangely enough, their differing ideology and clash in opinions had never affected their close friendship, and secretly, Erik was glad for Charles's optimism and idealism, balancing out some of his hardened cynicism. And he liked to think that he grounded Charles with his pragmatism and practicality, which was a good balance. So no, their differences had allowed their friendship to thrive for four years, at least until Erik moved to the other side of the country.

What had driven them apart, causing Erik to take up the job offer on the west coast a year ago, had been something else entirely.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Lilandra was slightly out of breath, grinning sheepishly as she slid into the booth on Charles's side. "But my friend thought she saw Conan and I had to stop her from molesting him."

Charles laughed, kissing her on the cheek. "Did you manage to stop her?"

"Seeing how we've both not been arrested, yes," Lilandra said, winking at Erik. "Really, these tourists! Am I right, Erik?"

Erik only smiled back before gulping down the rest of his beer.

\---

"You still keep this?" The delight was obvious in Charles's voice as he stepped into the storage unit, a hand brushing over the bike-shaped tarp. "I thought you sold her when you moved!"

"I wanted to," Erik admitted as he pulled down the shutter again. "But I couldn't bear to sell her, you know I bought her with my first paycheck."

"Of course I know, I was there," Charles said, whipping off the tarp. They both stared at the black Kawasaki Ninja, and without fail a mixture of pride and nostalgia welled in Erik's chest, remembering the numerous times he and Charles had ridden out of the city, the wind in their hair and faces, Charles clutching onto him and yelling, _"You ready for this?"_ and Erik yelling back, _"Let's find out,"_ and they had both shrieked with laughter as Erik had kicked up the speed and the bike had roared forth with absolutely no regard for the speed limit.

Now, Erik trailed his fingers over her chassis. "Maybe I should sell her," he said, and Charles shot him a sharp, considering look. "She's just rusting here, anyway."

"I would buy her, but Lily..." Charles trailed off, and Erik didn't need him to finish the sentence. They both knew she hated motorcycles.

"Yeah, I'll probably sell her," Erik said, meaning it more this time, and Charles didn't look up, his lips pursed in a displeased knot. "Don't worry, I'll find her a good home."

"It's not that." Charles still didn't meet his gaze. "If you sell her, I....I don't know, I guess it's just a reminder that you've really moved away, my friend. I guess...I was hoping."

They both fell silent, because Erik knew that there was no conceivable way he was moving back to New York. He had left it all behind a year ago, and by all rights he should be happy in San Fran, because he had a great job there and friends and he loved the climate and the culture, but the pull of one person kept him weighted down to New York like an anchor (or a deadweight, he hadn't decided yet) and he thought about how those two things can be the same thing, and how love could very well be a reflection of pain.

"Erik?" The way the corners of Charles's mouth were turned down only broadcasted his unhappiness. "Did I say something?"

"No," Erik said. Because the problem was that Charles had never really said anything at all.

\---

He still took the Kawasaki around the city whenever he went back for a visit, but most of the time he tried not to because it only served to remind him of more carefree, happy times with Charles. He wasn't sure exactly when his feelings had started to change, but he hadn't been able to run when he realised he was with Charles practically every day, heading into the office together and going on assignments to DC together and sharing everything, from his breakfast to his ideas to his innermost demons, and Charles had accepted everything with open arms and an open smile. And that smile, the one that crinkled the corners of those sickeningly blue eyes, that had been Erik's downfall, and he had fallen anyway.

He stopped the bike somewhere around St. Mark's and had a bagel, and mostly he tried not to think about Charles's upcoming wedding in six weeks. A summer wedding, which would be perfect for Charles and Lilandra really, and Erik was angry with himself for not being happy for his best friend, and angry with himself for not saying anything earlier, and even if he had, how could things have changed if Charles had not felt the same? Although Charles was perfectly accepting of Erik's sexuality, the string of women in his life had never given any indication that he might have been inclined the same way.

That night, when they met up again in Chelsea near Charles's place, he asked Erik to be his best man again. "I don't want anyone else," he said, his eyes soft, and Erik realised he had been wrong in thinking it couldn't hurt any more. "Do you really have to be in Tunisia at that time?"

"I already accepted the assignment," Erik said, the well-rehearsed lie coming out as smoothly as the grunt of a gritty engine. "I'm so sorry, Charles."

Charles sat back, blinking rapidly. "It's all right." The polite smoothness of his tone made it obvious it was anything but all right. "I'll ask Hank."

"That will make Raven happy," Erik said. "Anyway, how are their twins?"

"Perfectly fine." Charles was still refusing to look at him. "Excuse me, Erik."

As he headed off to the men's room, Erik thought about how he wanted to smash the beer bottle, then stab his own throat with the broken, still foaming neck.

\---

Erik was supposed to fly off the next day, and he had found a prospective buyer for the Kawasaki, so he wanted to take her out for one last ride. Charles said, "I'll come with you," even though Erik hadn't asked, ignoring Lilandra's dark grimace, and now they were both speeding along the road, Charles's arms tight around Erik's waist, and he thought that if it could always be like this, he wouldn't ask for anything more.

They stopped at somewhere in Union Square to get falafels, and after that they parked by the Hudson river and ate stoically, and Erik could feel the presence of his boarding pass back to SFO in his jacket, burning a rectangular hole in his chest. "Anything you want from Tunisia?" Erik asked, although it was perfectly perfunctory because he wasn't going there at all, but he didn't need Charles to know that.

However, Charles surprised him with his answer. "You."

"Beg your pardon?"

Charles heaved a deep sigh. "Just come home safely, that's all." His voice sounded thick, funny.

"Okay," Erik said, not wanting to remind Charles that New York was no longer his home.  
\---

He went back to San Francisco. The long, unbearably tight hug Charles had given him at JFK hours earlier, when they were saying goodbye, still lingered, and the ghost of Charles's grip still felt like a hot brand on his arms and chest.

It rained.

\---

Two weeks to the wedding, and Erik started skipping emails from Charles, and it took only another week before he started ignoring the phone calls too. It felt like watching a movie of his own pain, and if he was the fucking director, then he didn't have to be in the audience as well.

After a while, Charles stopped calling.

\---

There was an email from Charles two nights before the wedding. The subject said, 'Help' and Erik couldn't click it fast enough, fearful that something had happened to Charles, but the single sentence in that email had both confused and angered him. _I don't think I can do this, Erik._ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Do what? Their friendship? The wedding? Keeping Erik's hopes up like a stupid, foolish hot air balloon?

Erik's finger hovered over the mouse button for a good few minutes before he clicked the 'Delete' button.

\---

He had not gone to Tunisia, of course; Janos had taken that assignment, and happily too, and Erik had made him promise not to tell Charles, and he had snorted in a way that made Erik want to kick him. But Erik couldn't bring himself to concentrate at work either, so he had asked Emma for a week off which he fully intended to spend getting completely drunk and baked and so out of his mind that he would forget that Charles Fucking Xavier and his ridiculous eyes and ridiculous ideals and ridiculous smile ever existed.

He had his feet up on the sofa, flipping through the channels and thinking about how crap daytime TV was when his doorbell rang, and he got up, rather confused. It couldn't be Janos, and he highly doubted Emma would come and check up on him. She knew about the whole sordid story with Charles though, but they were printing a supplement that week that was taking up all her time, so he doubted she could even spare a minute to see him. He padded over to the door, unlatching it and swinging it open.

It was the delivery man from Chow's, an hour late. Erik's heart was still battering against his chest from the letdown. What the hell had he been hoping for? "I thought I cancelled the order?"

The delivery guy looked confused. "Um no, Mr Wong said--"

"Never mind, I'll take it." He paid the guy the money and his tip, and was about to close the door when he realised the guy started chuckling to himself. "What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing, there's some asshole sitting on your steps wearing a tuxedo. I just thought of something hilarious to say to him."

Blood was pounding in Erik's ears, and he felt like the ground was being sucked out from under him. "What? Where?"

"Downstairs," the delivery guy said, looking suspicious, and then, "Hey!" as Erik shoved him aside and skidded down the stairs and through the lobby, throwing open the door.

A very rumpled and tired Charles was still sitting there, his head in his hands, and he didn't even look up as Erik walked up to him. However, he stiffened when Erik gingerly sat down next to him, and the delivery guy only muttered something derisive in Cantonese as he walked past them and got onto his bike again, pedalling off.

They sat silently for a while, and Erik took this opportunity to observe Charles, who had no bags or anything apart from his wallet, the outline of which Erik could see through his tuxedo jacket. His eyes were bloodshot, the expression lines especially pronounced, but Erik thought he had never looked more beautiful. "Do you want a beer?" he finally asked, not knowing what else to say.

"A beer sounds good." Charles sounded defeated, tired. "I just got off a very long flight."

"I can see that." And despite the entire situation and how bad he felt for Charles, Erik was starting to smile.

"Everyone was staring at me, because of my attire," Charles said, picking at his fingernails savagely. "And I almost lost my wallet at the stopover in Chicago, and the United staff were absolutely not helpful, and Erik I think I'm in love with you, and then when I arrived at the airport, the taxi driver was laughing at me the entire time he drove me here."

"I'm so sorry." Erik wanted to pick Charles up and kiss him, and just do _something_ , really. "Come upstairs."

Charles ran a hand through his hair. "Lily is going to kill me."

"I know." Erik rested his chin on Charles's shoulder, which made him smile. "We'll do this together."

Charles shot him an amused sideways glance. "You want to do this."

Erik stood up, then held out a hand to him to help him up. "More than anything else," he said, laughing as Charles missed his aim and kissed the side of his nose instead. And then they were kissing for real, and Erik felt his toes curl.

Charles broke away first, and Erik bent his head so he could rest their foreheads together. "You ready for this?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Erik couldn't resist kissing him again. "Let's find out."

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [never been so alone; never been so alive (la douleur exquise)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/979692) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)
  * [The Good Times (Axis On A Tilt Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008162) by [radkoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radkoko/pseuds/radkoko)




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